Dearest Sister,
You have just left with the crones, and though I long to see your face every day, I was not surprised you decided to travel in the world with them—for it seems that in such a short time, the world we knew has changed, perhaps for the better. I was amazed as were we all when the crones entered the Greenwood. Who among us would have guessed at their true shapes? I marveled at their beautiful black skin, smooth as polished obsidian, and their regal bearing, dressed in robes of woven feathers, glass beads, and gold. Their power was undeniable and they are as old as the country from which they first came.
Sparrow and Robin are joined now, and the Council has decreed a new house, a new clan that signals the union between fey and mortal with rights afforded unto it in the world of Faerie. The Queen was eloquent about that—as were the crones of course, it being a lesson their kind learned long ago while we were hiding behind our closed borders. Alone each world will destroy itself, but twined together we can rebuild the strands that once wove our histories. Can you imagine, dear sister, a return at last of the goblin markets?
It gives me an odd sense of accomplishment, of strength. Power shared is power restored. Even the Dark Lord has agreed to a limited truce and keeps Red Cap on a very short leash. His bloody hat is barely pink now. I think he is not long for our worlds. As for Lankin, I have not seen him, though a sprite whispered in my ear that he has been imprisoned in a box of bloodstone that is kept in the Queen’s treasury. However, a boogan told me flatly that was wrong and that Lankin had been chopped into a million pieces and fed to the fishes off the coast of Manx. So who knows?
I am happy enough here. I am still recovering from my wounds and Jack, my beloved Jack, tends me. The courts have allowed him to stay as my consort, though there is nothing of that unequal nature in our friendship. I watch him at his work, the sprites hovering around him, singing their surprised joy as he creates his sculptures. He whistles those stolen tunes as he works, for he refuses to change. I suspect he may have a bit of fey blood somewhere in that strange past, but I will never say that to him.
Like you, when offered the chance to return to my youthful self I chose not to. I rather like who I am now, though I admit to having made a few improvements. However, I am no sylph for there is nothing as beautiful to me now as a face that wears its history well. Even the Queen now slips off the mask of youth and in quiet moments sits with me, two older women, our hair graying, watching the children as they come at last into their own between this world and the other.
Vinnie comes and goes as she pleases for the doors of Faerie are open again to those who can see them. She never stays here long. She says her cats need her. Though cats do not seem to need anything except the occasional tin of food. She promises to remain the carrier of all our letters.
But you, Serana, my beloved sister, how fare you in the world? I sorely miss you. You must tell me all.
And so our letters begin again.
Your loving sister,
Meteora
P.S. Robin says to please remember him to Chim and the rest. He and Sparrow hope to come in the spring to play music in the park.